


Another Day to Fight and Flee

by Saraste



Series: Mina Murray's Journal [1]
Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Kissing, On the Run, Romance, Tweaked Canon, Valentine's Day, Vampire Sex, vampire lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3354800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you know what day it is today?” Lucy asks, cupping Mina’s face between her palms, her touch cold but not unpleasant, her visage loving, not the horror frightened men described in their biased journals. She is Lucy, just Lucy, her gazes maybe a little more intense now than before, her wants more freely uttered, but, in all the ways which count, she is unchanged, the same Lucy Mina has known for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Day to Fight and Flee

**Author's Note:**

> Written both for femslash february 2015 and Valentines Day. Also, this wants to become a series, omg!

 

_Mina Murray’s Journal                                                                      February 14th 1899, Prague_

_We arrived in Prague yesterday morning, travel stained and wearied. Lucy is holding up rather well, even with the way that travelling this far from London is taxing her. We are both always keeping a keen eye on the small wooden chest which is integral to her continued survival, I do not even care to think what should happen if we ever lost it. At best, or worst, there would need to be a mad dash back to London to have her resting in the soil which is paramount to her survival to regain what magic such things hold… possibly falling right into the hands of the men who claimed to be our friends in the process._

_But I digress, for I am keeping this journal in the hopes of preserving the truth of what my life is and to show that those who have been infected with the bite of what some call nosferatu, which others name the oupir, but what is most commonly known as the vampire, from the german vampire, itself borrowed from what language I cannot now name, will do to the one who receives it and what their life is thereafter. There has been an account, part of which was narrated by myself but which was written for a simple purpose: to show the world that every woman receiving the bite will need to be put down for the common good, for the simple reason that their freedom from society’s restraints have made them dangerous and undesirable._

_I cannot express my gladness that my dearest Lucy did not fall to such a fate, even when our lives are far from easy now. Yet, we have promised one another that we will keep running as long as we can. Because what we have found with each other, it is something which will be taken from me only over my dead body, when there is not an inch in me which can fight for what life is left in me. I lost one love already; I am not losing another love, one which I almost lost too. If I stopped fighting for her I might as well sheathe a dagger inside my chest…_

 

“Your heart belongs to me, dearest,” Lucy Westenra, not one bit changed in her inquisitiveness, peered over Mina Murray’s shoulder and read what she was writing down, “you are not allowed to stab it.”

 

Mina turned, putting her pen down and smiling at her love, “It will only be a last resort, darling, only when there is no hope that you will come back to me. Only then would I resort to such dire measures, not a second before.”

 

Suitably distracted from her scriberly pursuits Lucy draws Mina to her feet and into her arms. Her kisses are something Mina needs like breathing now, essential to her survival. They remind her of why she is fighting, why they are on the run, what she is fighting for: because she and Lucy belong to one another, body and soul, blood and flesh.

 

“Do you know what day it is today?” Lucy asks, cupping Mina’s face between her palms, her touch cold but not unpleasant, her visage loving, not the horror frightened men described in their biased journals. She is Lucy, just Lucy, her gazes maybe a little more intense now than before, her wants more freely uttered, but, in all the ways which count, she is unchanged, the same Lucy Mina has known for so long.

 

And yet even then everything about her is completely different, because Mina herself has changed too.

 

Mina’s eyes fill with mischief because of course she knows, how could she not know? “Tell me then, dearest?” she asks, voice soft and sweet.

 

“It is Valentine’s Day,” Lucy announces with no little enthusiasm, crimson lips smiling and eyes glinting.

 

“So it is, Lucy dear,” Mina agrees, letting her arms settle about Lucy’s familiar frame, palms settling over the curve of her hips as she draws her ladylove nearer. She initiates a kiss, sweet at first, then fierce, consuming.

 

The city bustles about outside, the noises of life without floating in from the ajar window, the life of the streets and the unfamiliar cadences of tongues neither of them know how to speak become a canvas, a back-drop to their hungry, uninhibited gasps and the soft sweet murmurs which tumble from their mouths when their lips come apart.

 

Lucy lays Mina down onto the bed, not fine enough for her love but the money, _her money_ , which Lucy managed to get with her, is not enough to spend on fine housing. She would love nothing more than to pamper her love, give Mina everything she has so often have had to go without but their lives, as uncertain as they are as well as their finances, they simply have had to make do.

 

“You look tired,” she tells Mina, looking at the dark rings around Mina’s eyes accusingly, drawing her fingertip over the tired skin.

 

Mina sighs, “It is nothing, love, nothing what a good night’s rest will not fix, that and a good hearty meal to buoy my strength.”

 

Lucy frowns and presses a kiss onto Mina’s neck, holding herself back even when the vein pulses invitingly under her lips, _begging_ her to tear in and bite and rend, take everything until there is nothing left, until she is alone on a blood-strewn bed with the empty husk of Mina by her side for she has no idea how to make her like herself, to keep her with her should she take things too far. There is so much which she does not know. Even so…

 

“I am going to give you a little drink, you need it badly,” Lucy announces boldly, breath heavy as her words on Mina’s skin.

 

She is over Mina on the bed, their clothes rumpled, Mina’s bosom heaving with deep gulps, breathing ragged by the impairment of her corset and her befuddled state. Cloth rustles as she moves off and offers a hand, a little fearful now, for Mina has not uttered a word, which is worrisome.

 

“Come now, dearest,” Lucy murmurs and moves Mina, pliant and with an expectant rise and fall to her chest, as she will, plucking open claps and buttons. Dress, petticoats and shoes are all removed in good time. Unhurried kisses are pressed to pale ‒ too pale in Lucy’s reckoning ‒ skin as Mina is uncovered from under all her layers, drawers, corset and socks all tucked away from her body.

 

“Just a little sip,” Mina acquiesces with a whisper when Lucy unclasps her corset, buries her face in her bosom with kisses and little kitten licks, hand hovering down over moist ready curls, “a little taste.” Her words end in a gasp as Lucy teases her with soft yet insistent touches. She is as nude before Lucy as the day she was born, brimming with excitement for things to come, ready for her turn, knowing her task will be hampered by Lucy not leaving her be when she disrobes her.

 

But this is a familiar game that they play and Mina proceeds to undress Lucy any way.

 

She does not flinch, not any more, not by anything. She last flinched when she saw Van Helsing trying to push a stake through Lucy, when Lucy nigh died. Lucy is her everything now, the love she left everything for, so she does not get to flinch. And there is nothing to flinch for, in any case. For Lucy is beautiful. Her skin is nigh translucent now, paler than pale, her limbs nimble and supple, her bosom pert and inviting, and her lips ruby-red. Blood runs in blue veins under the translucent skin and Mina has come to love the spider webs they make, traces them with her fingers, her lips, and her tongue. Follows a particular set until she finds the apex of Lucy’s thighs, her sex, her core and bestows a kiss, kisses, _more_ right there where Lucy quivers and throbs.

 

“Bed,” Lucy manages to growl, whimper, biting her lip and drawing blood, the beast in her trashes under her skin, begging to be let out and play. Sometimes they indulge, even with all the inherent dangers; they let Lucy have her way to the point when Mina cries out in genuine pain.

 

They have not, not since Paris. Eight months is a long time and both of them know Lucy’s control is fraying. There might come a day, a night, a heartbeat when everything is fine and gone and wrong the next. They do not think on it. Not now. Not ever.

 

Mina sighs as Lucy kisses her all over, making her blood simmer and sizzle, her head spin with everything she feels, she feels faint because her breaths come in gasps, quick and too close to one another. She does not care, not really. All she cares is having Lucy all over her, returning the favor with matching enthusiasm. They gasp, writhe and wriggle, chasing completion, finding it, and so much more, in each other’s arms.

 

“I love you,” comes from Lucy’s bloodied lips as she lays her cheek against Mina’s warm quivering thigh, pressing crimson kisses on the pale skin. The little nicks on the skin are already healing in their wake, kissed better by Lucy.

 

Mina looks at her as Lucy moves up on her body, smiling, sated and happy. “Love you,” she tells Lucy as she accepts the bloodied wrist between her lips, taking her drink. Lucy, conflicted and scared, cradles her close, giving Mina the one thing she can; another day to fight and flee, hold onto a forbidden love with numb bloodied fingertips.


End file.
